


Love in the Time of Pokemon Go

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Avenging Stars [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 05:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7703098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Steve realizes he's in love with Bucky after Bucky brings home a new boyfriend, and Steve takes to Pokemon Go to try to deal with his feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love in the Time of Pokemon Go

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to the unparalleled Brumeier for her beta assistance and encouragement as I waded into the deeper waters of MCU for the first time.

As soon as the door was closed, Steve said, “I don’t trust him.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “What? Captain America doesn’t like another bona fide American hero?”

Steve shook his head. “I can’t put my finger on it. I just -”

“You’re worried about Bucky,” Clint said. “I get it. He’s fresh off the ice, we’re not sure if his anti-Hydra treatment is working, and now he’s doing crazy new stuff he never did before, like going on dates with other dudes. It’s weird. But Evan seems like a really nice guy.”

Natasha, who’d lounged on the couch seemingly playing Pokemon Go the entire time Bucky was introducing his date, waved her phone at Steve. “I had Jarvis do a scan on him. He’s basically 100% human. Has that gene that allows him to use fancy alien tech from the Pegasus Galaxy, and he was carrying a standard sidearm, a backup pistol, and a knife, but nothing I wouldn’t expect any soldier to carry. Frankly, I’m surprised he wasn’t carrying more.”

“And I hacked his service jacket,” Tony added. “Lieutenant Colonel Evan Lorne. Apart from a couple of times when he was overtaken by alien entities, he’s got an excellent service record. Commendations. Medals. All his COs have liked him.”

“I also reached out to some of my contacts and got some info off the record,” Natasha continued. “Prior to DADT being repealed, he did date only women, but none of them really had complaints about their relationships with him, except for his work basically taking over his life. He never dated anyone he served with, so none of his girlfriends understood when he got stuck on base during a lockdown or sent to another galaxy.”

Sam snorted. “Bet they’re kicking themselves now.”

“He got his masters in geophysics, so he and Bucky can talk science,” Tony offered. “But he’s an artist in his spare time.” He made some arcane gesture, and a projection of a painting appeared in midair. The city of Atlantis. It was beautiful. Steve admired the man’s use of color, and he had a great sense of -

“I’m still not comfortable with him.”

“Well, you’re not dating him,” Sam pointed out, “so as long as you can be nice to him for Bucky’s sake, you don’t have to be best friends.”

Three weeks ago, Bucky had told Steve that he had met someone when he was out running, that he’d called his new someone and they’d gone out for coffee or for strolls around Central Park a few times, even gone to an art exhibit (Bucky had always been one of the only guys willing to go to one of those with Steve when they were younger, before there were uniforms and wars). Bucky had said he wanted to see how things were going before he brought his new someone back to meet the gang.

Steve had assumed Bucky was being so opaque about who he was dating because he didn’t want Tony and Natasha to do, well, what they’d done.

Steve hadn’t thought, for one second, that Bucky’s date would be another man.

But then earlier this evening Bucky had been nervous about what to wear, darting in and out of his room with different outfits on, getting opinions from everyone, so Steve should have known this date was going to be different.

Tony had said, “Pants. Those are always a good idea,” and Bucky had panicked, because he’d come out of his room not wearing pants that time.

“Whatever you wear will be fine,” Steve said. “Calm down. You look great no matter what.”

“That other sweater brings out your eyes more,” Natasha said. “Did your date say where you’re going?”

“Just out to dinner at a nice restaurant. One that’s discreet, of course.” Bucky ducked back into his room for the other sweater - and some pants.

“That’s thoughtful of your date,” Natasha called after him.

And then Jarvis had announced, “Sergeant Barnes, your date is here.”

Bucky, standing in front of the elevator, smoothed his hands down his sweater again. Steve was baffled. Bucky was never nervous about dates. Girls got all nervous about him, not the other way around. But Bucky was acting like a giddy schoolgirl, and then the elevator doors opened, and -

The man who stepped off the elevator was handsome. Shorter than Bucky by a few noticeable inches, but broad in the chest and shoulders. Not strong enough to handle anyone who’d been subjected to super soldier serum, but Steve recognized the military bearing in his posture, even if he was wearing civvies.

“Hey, Bucky,” he said. ( _He._ Bucky’s date was _a man_.)

“Hi, Evan.”

Steve was horrified. Bucky sounded like some kind of dreamy schoolgirl.

Sam cleared his throat, and Bucky started. “Oh, right. Um, Evan, these are my f-friends. Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton, Tony Stark. Everyone, this is Evan Lorne.”

Sam, Tony, Steve, and Clint all shook Evan’s hand - he had a confident, solid handshake, not too aggressive - but Natasha just waved distractedly from the couch.

Steve still didn’t get how she could be bothered to play Pokemon Go, except she’d murmured something about her work taking her to places where rare Pokemon could be found.

“So, Evan,” Sam said, “what branch of the service are you in?” Sam could spot a veteran from a mile away. Steve wished he could read Sam’s mind, know what he was seeing in this Evan Lorne character.

“Air Force,” he said.

“Where are you stationed?” Tony asked.

“Earth, for now, but I hear the IOA is close to making a decision about Atlantis’s independence, so I might ship back out to Pegasus, but I’m also coming up on my twenty, so I’m not sure how everything is going to shake out.” Evan smiled, and he had dimples.

Bucky had always been a sucker for a girl with dimples.

Maybe just dimples. Steve only had one. He resisted the urge to poke himself in the cheek to check for sure about the other one.

“Earth’s a pretty big place,” Clint said.

Evan ducked his head. “Yeah. Sorry. I keep forgetting people don’t see the universe the way I do. Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado.”

Steve was confused, but then Sam raised his eyebrows and said, “You’re with Stargate Command.”

Steve must have still looked confused, because Tony waved a dismissive hand and said, “It was before you were defrosted.”

“What’s Stargate Command?” Steve asked.

“A previously super-secret project staffed mostly by the Air Force, civilian scientists, and Marines using implausible but apparently perfectly functional physics to use stable wormholes to travel to other planets and other galaxies,” Tony said, eyeing Evan like he wanted to stick the man under a microscope and peer at him.

“Apart from a fireball in the sky, no one really noticed when the Wraith hive ship came to Earth, so we managed to keep a low profile, and then you guys showed up and beat down aliens over New York City, and suddenly my mom didn’t think my job was that dangerous.” Evan grinned, and Steve saw Bucky’s eyes light up.

And then Bucky latched himself onto Evan’s arm and said, “I’m sure Evan would love to talk to you guys about fighting aliens later, but we have reservations, right?”

“Right.” Evan smiled up at Bucky, and Steve felt something cold twist in his gut. No. This was wrong. “It’s been an incredible honor to meet you all, but we do have reservations.” As he led Bucky into the elevator, he started to say, “You look great. That sweater really brings out the color of your eyes -”

And then the elevator doors slid closed, and Steve was left feeling an echo of the horror he’d felt when he and Bucky were on the train and his body failed him and he let Bucky fall.

Steve had no response to Sam’s comments about how Steve’s liking Evan was irrelevant to Bucky’s dating him, so Clint, Natasha, Sam, and Tony dispersed to do their own thing. Steve was left alone in the den. He slumped down on the couch, feeling unsettled.

“Jarvis,” he said, “show me Lorne’s service jacket.”

And there, in midair, appeared text, bold and bright as day, and Steve read about how Evan Lorne really was a bona-fide American hero, serving in secret for over a decade to protect Earth and other planets and galaxies from various horrifying alien threats. Mind-controlling snakes. Life-sucking space vampires. Super psychic priests.

He’d been overtaken by alien entities twice and endangered his post both times, but apparently twice was a pretty low number for SGC personnel, and no one had been seriously hurt either time.

He’d understand a fraction of what Bucky had been through, then. Steve didn’t understand it at all, felt powerless when he sensed Bucky stirring from his bed on the other side of the room they shared and going to roam the tower in the middle of the night, driven from bed by nightmares beyond even a soldier’s ken.

“Hey.” Natasha passed through the den on the way to the kitchen for more coffee. “You can’t sit here forever.”

“I want to wait for Bucky.”

“You’re not his mom.”

Steve glared at Evan Lorne’s service jacket, dismissed it with a swipe of his hand.

“Come on,” Natasha said. “Let me teach you how to play Pokemon Go, and we can go on a productive walk together.”

Steve stared at his watch. Bucky has been gone for all of half an hour. “Okay. Fine. How does this Pokemon Go work?”

As it turned out, wandering the streets of New York with Natasha with nothing more pressing to do than chase after fictional creatures on his phone screen was kind of fun. Half of the fun was the two of them trying to stay incognito (“Really? Your disguise is a hoodie?”), and half of the fun was acting like a complete lunatic (“Get it! It's Pikachu!”). Other people, Steve noticed, were out doing the same thing, and they’d lock gazes for a moment, share a conspiratorial smile, and move on.

Central Park was rife with Pokemon, and Steve and Natasha stuck close together, telling each other what they saw, taking turns catching Pokemon. She let him catch most of the ones they spotted, because she already had a sizable collection. When they needed a rest, they sat down on a park bench and Steve spent a possibly embarrassing amount of time picking an outfit for his character (his nickname was IceIceCaptain, because Natasha had a sense of humor; hers was CharlotteNoire).

They watched other Pokemon hunters amble by, and Steve understood why Tony, Clint, and Sam had so much fun playing video games. It had seemed silly, to spend his spare time on simulated battles when he had enough of it in his real life, thanks. But there was something satisfying about accomplishing something as simple as catching a Pokemon, without the added burden of possibly hurting civilians (or hurting even more if he failed). And getting out with Natasha was nice. She didn’t ask questions. She just hunted right along with him.

And then she said, “I'm not Sam. Psychology’s not my thing. Comforting people’s not my thing. Pretty much the opposite, actually. But in case you didn’t know, you're jealous.”

Steve lifted his head sharply. “What?”

“You’re jealous that Bucky is going out with Evan,” Natasha said. “I mean, Evan’s like Steve-lite, a soldier, kinda heroic, also an artist in his spare time. All around nice guy. But he's not actually you. You have zero reason to dislike the guy. In fact, you should be glad that Bucky’s first dating experience with a man is pleasant so far. But you’re not. Because you’d rather be dating Bucky.”

Steve frowned. “No, that's not -”

“Steve,” Natasha said, “for about the first month I met you, while you were still getting used to this modern life, every other sentence out of your mouth was ‘Bucky used to’ or ‘Bucky would like’ or ‘Bucky would be amazed’.”

“Bucky’s my best friend.”

“Did you ever get mad when he dated other women?”

“Bucky’s always been a charmer.” Steve stared down at his phone.

“Not an actual answer to my question.”

“Well, no.”

“Then you should be happy he's finally dating again. Unless you...don’t like gay people?”

“What, no! I don’t care about that, not at all.” Steve had known plenty of guys who were sweet on each other, who frequented the sketch dens where he drew back in the day, and he’d never said a word about it to anyone.

“Then what is it about Evan Lorne that you don’t like?”

“I don’t know. I just have a gut feeling.”

“I have a pretty good gut,” Natasha said. “It’s saved me more than once. And my gut tells me that Evan’s a great guy. Face it, Steve, you’re jealous. Now, do you want to go catch some more Pokemon, or are you done?”

Steve sighed. “I think I’m done.”

“Back to the Tower?”

“Ah, no. I think I want to sit here and think a while.” Because maybe Natasha was right. She was usually right about people.

Natasha smiled gently at him. “All right. See you later.” And she hopped to her feet and headed back toward Stark Tower, studying her phone like an intent Pokemon hunter.

Steve poked at his phone, tooling around with his costume some more, and then he heard familiar laughter. Bucky. He tugged up his hood, pocketed his cell phone, and scanned the park. When he glanced at his watch, he saw that more than enough time had elapsed for Bucky and Evan to share a meal and for Evan to get Bucky back to the tower at a reasonable time, like a gentleman should (except Bucky had always skirted the edge of gentlemanly behavior, back when they were young, and Steve didn’t really want to follow that train of thought any further).

There it was again. Bucky’s laughter. And there were Evan and Bucky, strolling hand in hand across the grass, Bucky grinning while Evan told him some story - probably about his intergalactic heroics.

Steve still didn’t trust Evan. If someone was too good to be true, they probably weren’t. And Evan was just unreal. Too perfect for Bucky, really - soldier, hero, artist, just enough scientist for a curious mind like Bucky, who'd always adored going to Stark Expo every year. There had to be a catch.

Steve could be as stealthy as a cat when he wanted. Natasha had taught him more things than hunting Pokemon, after all. So he stood up and sauntered across the grass, fell into a pace matching Evan and Bucky’s, and followed them. If Evan got fresh with Bucky, Steve would put a stop to that right quick.

Not that Bucky couldn't protect himself, of course. Just that -

Bucky laughed again. “How did you get anything done out there?”

“Well, it helped that there are twenty-eight hours in a day on New Lantea,” Evan said, “and also eight days a week, but between Rodney nearly blowing up another solar system, Sheppard unknowingly flirting with another alien chieftain’s daughter, and Ronon making the newest batch of Marines cry on a daily basis, it was usually a close thing for me. Some days it was a wonder I made it to staff muster with both boots on.”

Bucky nudged Evan’s shoulder with his. “I’m sure Sheppard would tell me you showed up to muster with both boots on, spit-shined every time. Seriously, though, cat ears?”

“Yes, cat ears. Technology is supposed to make life easier, but best as I can tell here on Earth it just makes life busier. Seems like the Ancients made it past that point and so they had time to tool around and make stupid things like machines that give people cat ears and tails.”

“I bet you had cute ears and a very fluffy tail.”

“Coughing up fur balls is not so cute.” Evan wrinkled his nose. “So, next week, there’s this concert in the park. Jazz. That your genre? I was thinking I could make us a picnic, bring a blanket, and we could hang out, enjoy the music. We could make it a group thing, too, if you wanted.”

“Sounds like fun,” Bucky said. “But I’d rather it was just you and me.”

“Sure thing.” Evan smiled at him. He and Bucky turned a corner - and vanished.

Steve came up short, confused.

From behind him, Evan said, voice low and menacing, “Why are you following us?”

Steve raised his hands in surrender.

“You have two choices,” Evan said. “You can walk away now and I’ll pretend this never happened. Or you can get cute, and I will hurt you. Severely, if needs be. Understood?”

Steve had underestimated Evan’s alertness while on a date.

“Evan,” Bucky said wryly, “I can take care of myself.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Evan said simply, and Steve’s throat closed. All his life, Bucky had looked after him, and when Steve was finally big enough, strong enough to look after Bucky, he’d failed him.

“I’ll leave,” Steve said, keeping his voice soft, anonymous.

“Good choice.”

Steve bolted.

When he got back to the Tower, he wasn’t even winded, but his chest hurt all the same. Natasha called out some kind of greeting, but Steve went past her and straight to his room.

The room he shared with Bucky, who showed up about half an hour later, practically glowing. And not with the same tomcat glow of his youth, but with a kind of happiness Steve could only dream of making him feel. The happiness Steve had felt when Bucky was himself again, after the horror of being the Winter Soldier.

“Have fun?” Steve didn’t look up from his phone. Damn Natasha and her Pokemon Go.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “We’re going out again next week.”

“Good.” Steve swallowed the lump in his throat. “Listen, Bucky, I promise I don’t care one lick about you liking men.”

“I know,” Bucky said. “You artists are always the open-minded types.”

Steve nodded. He couldn’t help but wonder - was Evan Bucky’s first boyfriend? Because Bucky hadn’t told Steve he liked more than women. DADT had been repealed about six years ago, but Natasha said Evan had only dated women before then. Had he dated men since then? Or was Bucky his first boyfriend?

Steve shut off his phone, plugged it into its charger, and stood up. “I’m going to brush my teeth. Good night, Bucky.”

“Good night, Steve.” Bucky smiled at him, then down at his phone when it pinged - probably a text message from Evan.

Bucky was kind enough to retire to the den to entertain himself while he was still feeling wakeful. He was probably still trading text messages with Evan.

Steve took forever to fall asleep.

 

*

“You need to get out more,” Sam said.

Steve looked up from his sketchbook. “I get out plenty. I go Pokemon hunting with Natasha.”

Sam’s expression was unreadable for a second. “That’s...great. And very modern of you. But you should get out and see New York, see how it's changed since -”

“Since everyone I know and love died?”

“Since you last really got to know it. You don’t know it anymore. Get to know it again.”

Sam’s suggestion had some merit. After all, Steve hadn’t been back to Brooklyn in a really long time, hadn’t had the guts to go look at all the places he used to frequent, used to live - especially because most of them probably didn’t exist anymore. Besides, he could look for more Pokemon while he was there.

And then he had a brilliant idea. “You know, I heard there’s a concert in the park next week.” He had no idea which park, though. Should’ve done an internet search first. “Jazz. We should go. All of us. I think we can bring blankets and food.”

“The Central Park Jazz Festival.” Sam smiled. “You know what? That’s a great idea. You hear that, Jarvis? Send e-invites to the rest of the team. Look at you, Steve. I didn’t realize jazz was your thing.”

It wasn’t, really, Steve still preferred big band or slow, easy crooners, but maybe Bucky would cancel with Evan and come with the team instead.

And maybe Natasha really was right about how Steve felt about Bucky.

Maybe.

Except...Steve had never even imagined dating another man. Had never imagined dating boys when he was a boy. Things were different when he was a kid - he and Bucky had shared a bed hundreds of times growing up, and it hadn’t been at all romantic and sexual. It was to keep warm, or because there weren’t enough beds to go around, or because they just both needed to sleep. It was the way things were. Like the way Bucky was easy with hugs (Before) and had zero personal space (Before Hydra - but he was getting better).

Steve wondered if Bucky was like that with Evan, if Evan would misread Bucky’s signals and -

Steve really was just concerned about Bucky’s emotional safety (and okay, maybe his physical safety, because for all that he was an ordinary human, Evan Lorne had apparently beaten down some dangerous aliens with little more than an assault rifle and a pistol to his name). Even if Bucky didn’t want to go to the concert with the rest of them, Steve could keep an eye on him and Evan. It was a win-win either way.

Tony and Clint were immediately enthusiastic about the concert in the park plan; Tony planned to bring Pepper, and Clint was going to bring his wife. Natasha smiled at Steve, looked pleased, and Steve felt terribly guilty, especially when he saw Bucky’s eyes widen before Bucky smiled and said,

“Sure! Evan and I were planning on being there. We could totally make this a group thing.”

And then Natasha cast Steve a knowing look, and Steve thought he managed to look innocent, but Natasha was obviously not buying it.

“That’ll be great,” Clint said. “I know my wife wants to get to know you guys, and it’ll be good for Evan to get to know us better, right? If this is serious.” He tilted his head at Bucky. “Are you two serious?”

“Not sure yet.” Bucky shrugged and actually blushed. “But we - we are going steady. Evan - he gave me this.” He reached under his collar and pulled up what looked like his old dog tags - only the tag on there wasn’t standard military issue. “It’s a special tag, with some kind of tracker in it? So he can find me in an emergency.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “He lo-jacked you?”

“That could be hacked,” Tony began, but Bucky shook his head.

“No. It’s alien tech. I can be beamed to safety in case of emergency, he said. He has his own subcutaneous tracker for the same thing. I guess everyone on the Atlantis Expedition was given one Alien Apocalypse Token, he called it. To save someone - important.”

“Well,” Natasha said, “that’s certainly a lot fancier than a class ring. Sounds serious to me.” She shot Steve another pointed look.

“Where does it beam you to?” Steve asked, pleased when his voice came out steady.

“A battle cruiser that orbits Earth, I think.” Bucky tucked the tag back beneath his collar, smoothed down his shirt with a fond expression.

“That sounds cooler than a helicarrier,” Sam said. “But awesome! It’s a date. For all of us. What time should we meet?”

Bucky explained when and where he and Evan had planned to meet up for their date, assured them that Evan was fine with making it a group thing, and the others nodded, made plans of their own.

Steve felt terribly guilty, but everyone else was so excited that he couldn’t back out. As the day of the concert grew closer and closer, he avoided Bucky, terrified Bucky would take one look at him and know and be angry with him or, worse, pity him. Natasha said nothing, though she promised to join them at the concert. Clint’s wife Laura was apparently getting along with Evan like a house on fire, and Clint reported that the two of them had been spending an awful lot of time on the phone, making plans.

Those plans, as it turned out, involved food. When Steve, Bucky, and the others arrived at the section of lawn Evan had reserved with the judicial application of neatly-arranged blankets, Evan was waiting with two picnic baskets. Laura had also brought two picnic baskets, and she presented hers to Evan with a flourish.

“I must confess, I have kids, and most of this is store bought.”

Evan leaned in to press a kiss to Bucky’s cheek, then smiled at Laura. “No need to apologize. Child-rearing is more than a full-time job.”

Laura opened her picnic baskets. She had chips, dip, crackers, and lots and lots of soda. Evan opened his picnic baskets, and he had homemade finger sandwiches, delicate apple pastries that looked like roses, bon bons, miniature eclairs, tiny cupcakes, and a plate of melon balls wrapped in prosciutto.

“You know,” Sam said, gazing into the baskets dreamily, “if you and Bucky don’t work out, I’m single. I’d come home to this every night without question.”

Evan laughed. “I don’t get the chance to cook or bake very often, so when I do, I kind of turn it up to eleven.”

“Turn what up to eleven?” Bucky asked.

Evan smiled. “You ever look at a guitar amp? Volume only goes all the way up to ten. Turning it up to eleven is going beyond the extreme.”

“It's also a movie reference,” Tony said. “ _Spinal Tap_. Add that to your list, Boy Scout.”

“I was never a Boy Scout,” Steve muttered, but he did write it down in his ubiquitous notebook.

“Well,” Laura said, “what you made looks extremely good.”

Evan ducked his head and blushed. “Maybe I'm trying a little too hard to impress Bucky’s friends.”

Tony snagged one of the cookies and bit into it, made a noise that Steve was pretty sure was considered obscene even today.

“Bucky, tell your new boyfriend that your friends have incredibly high standards and we may take a second round of impressing,” he said.

Pepper smiled patiently and introduced herself to Evan, and then they were settling down on their blankets and divvying up the food. Steve managed to snag the blanket next to Bucky and Evan’s. Pepper and Tony, Clint and Laura each got their own blankets. Steve was sharing with Sam and Natasha, who Sam was jokingly calling Big Pimpin’, and Natasha kept casting Steve pointed looks, but he avoided her gaze and picked at his food.

Which was delicious. Evan was an amazing cook. Steve felt horrible, because his stomach was in knots and he had barely any appetite, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Evan and Bucky sitting together, shoulders brushing, and talking in low voices, heads bent close. Steve knew Evan liked him, liked Captain America. Captain America was a good guy. Steve Rogers, on the other hand, was a pathetic, jealous bastard.

Evan turned his head ever so slightly, angling for a kiss, and Steve burst out with, “Hey, Evan, do you have any napkins?”

Evan pulled back, flashed Steve a friendly smile - Natasha was drilling holes into the back of Steve’s skull with her accusatory laser-gaze - and reached into the picnic basket, handed Steve a ziplock bag full of napkins.

Steve smiled and thanked him and went back to picking at his food.

When the music started up, Steve relaxed a little, because he did like big band and swing. It reminded him of old times and, more importantly, he could actually dance to it. Not that there was going to be any dancing. Except the band apparently had it in their heads to play a very jazzed-up, almost unrecognizable version of _The Star-Spangled Man With The Plan_ , and Bucky tugged Evan to his feet to dance. Tony, laughing, pulled Pepper to her feet and into his arms for a dance, and it was like they’d unstoppered a champagne bottle, because people all over were getting to their feet and dancing on their little blankets. Natasha accepted when Sam asked her to dance, and of course Clint was dancing with Laura, so Steve was left on his blanket, trying not to frown at the way Bucky was smiling as he tried to lead a stumbling Evan in a simple two-step. Evan was smiling at his own lack of grace, accepting Bucky’s leading good-naturedly, even though at the beginning there was a _Who’s leading?_ and _I’m taller_ and _Do you even know how to dance?_ and _I cannot begin to tell you how many officers’ balls I’ve missed_.

When the song ended, the audience erupted into cheers and applause, and Steve watched Bucky and Evan sprawl, breathless and flushed, on their blanket.

Evan leaned into Bucky’s side, smiling, and Bucky leaned in and closed his eyes, he was going for a kiss, and Steve said, “Hey, uh, are there any more bottles of water?”

Bucky pulled back, blinking. Evan poked through one of this picnic baskets and came up with another bottle of water - Steve had artfully thrown his jacket over his own unfinished bottle - and handed it to him with a smile.

“Thanks,” Steve said, twisted off the cap, and took a long pull.

The music was good, just like the food was good. Evan was a nice guy, and he planned really nice dates. Natasha was bobbing her head to the music, even if she was also poking at her phone in pursuit of Pokemon. Pepper was leaning her head on Tony’s shoulder, smiling softly, humming along to songs she recognized. Clint, in a fit of engineering genius, had built a back-rest out of some of the picnic baskets and was leaning against it, Laura tucked against his chest. Sam was nodding along to the music, expression appreciative, and sending text messages to someone about it. Seeing Bucky sitting with his arm around Evan’s shoulders, Evan tucked against his side, was like the old days, watching Bucky with yet another dame, admiring his open, easy affection (Steve was entitled to the same open, easy affection, if not with the same intent). Except...except Evan was obviously a man, and it had never occurred to Steve, for one second, that Bucky could look at men like that, because it meant Bucky could have looked at Steve like that, and apparently he hadn’t. Not once.

Apparently Steve had looked at Bucky like that, many times, and not even known it.

The band was about to step down for an intermission when Bucky turned to Evan, nuzzled his ear. Evan laughed softly, turned to Bucky, and this was it, they were going to kiss, they were -

Steve burst out with, “Hey Bucky, do you have any -”

Bucky pulled away from Evan, took a deep breath, and turned to Steve.

Steve knew that look on his face. Oh no.

“Give us a minute, Evan, will you?” Bucky stood up, jerked his chin at Steve, and Steve stood up as well. Bucky threaded his way through the maze of blankets to the edge of the crowd, and Steve followed helplessly, like a prisoner on a rope. When he glanced over his shoulder, Evan looked anxious; Tony looked puzzled; Laura and Clint looked worried; and Natasha, Sam, and Pepper were all wearing the same grim expression.

“What the hell?” Bucky demanded as soon as they were out of earshot of their friends.

Steve swallowed down the lump in his throat. “What do you mean?”

“You’re doing it on purpose. First time I figured it was a mistake, second time was coincidence, but the third time is certainly not the charm, Steven.” Anger blazed in Bucky’s eyes. “Every time I try to kiss Evan, you bust us up. You’re - what do they call it these days? - you’re _cock-blocking_ me.”

“No,” Steve began, but Bucky shook his head sharply.

“Don’t play games with me. I’m not stupid. What I don’t understand is why.” Bucky blinked, curled his hands into fists. “You said you didn’t care that I like - like men.”

“I don’t care,” Steve said. “I mean, it doesn’t bother me.”

“Then what, Steve? Why are you doing this?”

“It’s supposed to be me!” The words tumbled out before he could stop them.

Bucky rocked back on his heels. “...What?”

“Me,” Steve said softly. “If you were ever going to be with another man, it was supposed to be me. Not some - stranger.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide. “Steve - but you and Peggy -”

“It should have been you and me,” Steve said. “Till the end of the line, remember?”

Bucky sucked in a shuddering breath. “That’s not how it works.”

Steve came up short. “What? Why?”

“You can’t be all petty and jealous and screw up my date and then expect me to forgive you for being an ass just because you have feelings for me or whatever,” Bucky said.

 _Or whatever._ Steve flinched.

“I’m with Evan,” Bucky said. “He was honest. He took a chance with me.”

“I didn’t even know till Evan showed up for your date that I could be honest with you.”

“That’s why it’s called taking a chance.”

“You never took a chance with me,” Steve protested.

Something fractured in Bucky’s eyes. “I’m not the only one whose memory was scrambled by time on ice,” he said. He turned away and headed back to Evan.

Steve didn’t follow.

 

*

Back at the Tower, Steve and Bucky avoided each other completely. Natasha kept casting Steve looks he couldn't read. She must have said something to Tony, Clint, and Sam, because they said nothing to Steve about what had happened and also were careful not to mention Bucky and Evan, even though Steve knew Clint and Laura had Bucky and Evan over for dinner (on account of Evan’s amazing culinary skills).

And once again, Steve was unmoored, lost, like he’d been before the whole SHIELD-Hydra-Winter Soldier fiasco. On Sam’s advice (Sam offered to talk once and took Steve’s strained but courteous refusal well), Steve went out with his sketchbook and tried to draw, tried to get his mind around things, but the pictures didn’t come. All he could draw was Bucky’s face in that final moment, over and over again.

He tried to talk to Bucky, to apologize, but every time the words came out wrong and made things worse. It didn't take advice from Sam or Natasha for Steve to figure out that he’d better let Bucky cool off and make the first move - if he ever did.

Steve was convinced that Bucky was sleeping at Evan’s place now, wherever that was.

Finally, after another night of sitting up waiting for Bucky to come back from a date with Evan (and it being abundantly clear that Bucky wasn’t coming back that night), Steve tugged on his jacket and sneakers and headed downstairs, caught the last train out to Brooklyn. He could walk back to the Tower after.

He’d found the place where his old apartment building was - it had been replaced by newer, fancier apartments with several shops and a gourmet deli on the ground floor - and was staring up at it when someone bumped into him.

He started and turned, nervous, but it was just a little girl, maybe twelve or thirteen. She was wearing a dark hoodie and clutching a smart phone.

“Oh, sorry, mister. I was looking for a Charizard. I heard one hung around here sometimes.” She smiled at him from beneath the hoodie. She had dark skin and dark eyes and bright white teeth, a little round nose.

Steve itched to draw her. “A Charizard? Really? I haven’t found one of those yet. I mean - shouldn’t you be in bed? Don’t you have school tomorrow?” What day of the week was it?

The girl fixed him with an unimpressed look. “You don’t have any school-age kids, do you?”

“No.”

“Yeah, I could tell. School’s out for the summer. No school for two more whole weeks.”

“You should still probably be in bed,” Steve said. “How old are you?” He knew teenage girls liked to be thought older than they were, and older women younger. Bucky had taught him that.

Bucky.

He swallowed hard.

“Old enough to go Pokemon hunting on my own,” she said. “And if you get fresh with me, I have a knife.”

“Does your mother know where you are?”

“She's a nurse at the hospital, works graveyards,” the girl said.

“My mom was a nurse too,” Steve said.

“So you know how it is, especially in summer. So, you play Pokemon Go too, huh?”

Steve nodded. “My friend got me into it. She has really rare ones because she manages to go to strange places for work. Mostly I have the ones you can find around Central Park.”

The girl oohed appreciatively. “Mom won’t let me out of the neighborhood to go hunting without someone older, so I’ve caught most of the cool ones around here. I heard Central Park has some pretty awesome ones. Do you have a Jiggly Puff?”

“Maybe,” Steve said, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

And that was how he found himself going on a Pokemon hunt-slash-walking tour of Brooklyn. Emma was the youngest daughter of ten kids, her father was deceased, and all but one of her siblings was married and out of the house. Her older sister was at home asleep.

“Hey, you’re a guy,” Emma said.

Steve glanced at her. “That I am.” She’d graciously allowed him to catch the Jiggly Puff that was outside the boutique that was where one of Steve’s favorite old drawing dens used to be.

“I’m having guy problems, and I wondered if you could give me some advice.”

Steve hesitated. “Well -” He hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Peggy his conversation with her was one of the longest he'd ever had with a woman. He hadn’t ever had a conversation with a teenaged girl this long.

“Please?”

“I'm having guy problems myself, so I don't know if I’m qualified to help you,” he said finally.

Emma raised her eyebrows. “You? Have guy problems? But you’re mega hot.”

Steve blushed. “Well, I didn't always look like this, and this guy has known me since I was a kid, so -”

“So he remembers you were less than mega hot and he’s holding that against you? Dude. Move on. You don't need that.” Emma wielded her phone. “Okay. I'm going to light some incense, and we can wait for some Pokemon to come. And while we’re waiting, let me tell you some more about how you need to move on from this shallow friend of yours.”

“No, he’s not shallow,” Steve said.

“Defending his terrible qualities because you like him is so sad.” Emma tapped away at her phone.

“He’s really not. I mean, yes, he's always dated beautiful women, but -”

“Whoa, back up, you’re pining for your straight BFF? Also move on. Go to a gay club. I can give you addresses.” Emma peered up at Steve solemnly. She barely reached his bicep, even with the cat ears on the hood of her hoodie. “What’s your phone number? I can text them to you.”

“Why do you have addresses for gay clubs? I mean, no, thank you, that's very generous of you. He's dating a man, now. A very handsome man.”

“Okay, so he’s bi and shallow.”

“He's not shallow,” Steve insisted. “And I’m at least as hot as his boyfriend now.”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “Holy shit, you’re jealous!”

“Language,” Steve said automatically.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Sorry, grandpa. But for reals, you’re jealous!”

“One of my other friends pointed that out to me, thanks.”

“Did you tell him you like him?” Emma asked.

Steve winced. “Well -”

“Did you try to break him and his boyfriend up?” Emma’s eyes went wide. “Or did you try to make him jealous?”

“Neither of those things,” Steve said. “But I, uh, might have kind of, um -” He couldn’t use the phrase _cock-block_ in front of a little girl. He cleared his throat. “I might have been subconsciously trying to sabotage his date one time. When we were all out as a group.”

Again with Emma’s unimpressed stare. “You mean you cock-blocked him.”

“...Yes.”

“And he didn't take it well.”

“No.”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “Did you admit you did it?”

“Not at first.”

“Better late than never, I suppose. Did you tell him why you did it?”

“Also yes.”

“So you told him how you feel about him?”

“Yes.”

“And he doesn't feel the same way.”

“He didn't exactly say that.”

“You wouldn't be Pokemon hunting with me if he'd dumped his boyfriend and jumped your bones, so either he doesn't feel the same way or you really pissed him off.” Emma waggled her phone a little bit. “Oh, hey, it's Vulpix. Catch it!”

There was a brief flurry of phone tapping before Steve finally caught the fox-like Pokemon. Then, with his new experience from battle, he proceeded to level up his trainer.

“You're totally one of those people who spends forever on your trainer’s outfit, aren't you?” Emma sounded amused.

“I'm an artist. I appreciate things that look good,” Steve said defensively. Why was he defending himself against a haughty little girl?

Because she wasn't acting like a little girl. Sure, they were playing Pokemon Go, but she was talking to him like he was a real person, not a soul out of time, or a relic, or a soldier without a war.

“Whatever you say, Fashionista.” But Emma smiled at him to soften her sarcasm. She was like Tony and Natasha all rolled into one. “Come on! This guy told me there might be a Rhyhorn over at the Captain America Memorial.”

“The what?” Steve echoed. But he followed Emma as she trotted down the sidewalk.

The Captain America Memorial, as it turned out, wasn’t an embarrassingly large statue or a shiny plaque or anything else - it was down an alley that Steve remembered getting beat up in. Someone had spray-painted a scene on the wall, silhouettes, of pre-Serum Steve getting his ass kicked, Bucky by his side. Pre-serum Steve’s shadow was Captain America.

Emma swung up her phone, and there was another Pokemon, dancing in front of the mural.

“Do you want it?” she asked.

“Do you have one?” Steve glanced at her.

“Yeah.”

He suspected she was lying to him, that she was being nice to him, and that small act of kindness almost broke him. “Thanks, Emma.” And he caught it. “So this boy who told you where to find Rhyhorn. He’s not the boy you’re having boy troubles with?”

“Totally,” Emma said, “but my boy troubles are not like your boy troubles. My boy troubles are, in comparison, relatively simple. Don’t try to distract me. C’mon - I know a place that’s open all night. We can get coffee and pastries.”

“Should you be drinking coffee?” Steve asked. “Won’t it stunt your growth?”

“Lies and slander,” Emma said airily. “Plus we can find some Pokemon on the way. Now, back to your boy troubles. You cock-blocked him, and it pissed him off. You told him you’re in love with him?”

“I told him he should be with me and not his current boyfriend.” Steve followed her, phone out, scanning for Pokemon and also potential threats.

Emma winced. “Ooh, bad move, questioning his judgment and his taste in men. Have you apologized to him?”

“I tried, but I kept making it worse. I’m thinking maybe I should just...not talk to him for a few days. Or maybe weeks.”

“Did you tell him you loved him more than his current boyfriend?”

Steve ducked his head.

“For reals?” Emma huffed and shook her head. “Here’s what you need to do. You need to send him a text message - and wait till a reasonable hour, because sending one in the middle of the night makes you look desperate and also like you’re drunk-texting.”

“I can’t get drunk,” Steve said, and cut himself off, because so far Emma hadn’t indicated she recognized him, and he wanted to keep it that way, afraid of how their dynamic would be ruined if she knew who he was (or thought she knew who he was).

“Whatever. The point is, you need to send him a text message admitting you acted like a douchebag, tell him you do love him sincerely, but you acknowledge he’s happy with his current boyfriend and you want him to be happy, because you’re his best friend and you want to still be best friends.”

“But I do love him more,” Steve protested. “I’ve known him longer and we’ve been through a lot of stuff together and -”

Emma fixed him with a look. “You’re being a Nice Guy, and it’s not cool.”

Steve blinked at her, confused. “What?”

“You’re the Nice Guy in rom coms,” Emma said. “Who’s been BFF’s with a girl forever and is super in love with her while she dates jerks or other decent guys, and you’ve been pining forever and being supportive whenever she’s sad, hoping that one day she will notice how nice you are and reward your niceness by falling into bed with you.”

Steve had only seen a handful of rom coms, so he wasn’t sure he followed her angle completely, except...except she was right. “Maybe I have been pining for...forever. But I’m supposed to be nice. To be good.”

“Here’s the thing,” Emma said, pushing open the door to the Book of Dead Names cafe, which looked gothic and frightening, but she settled herself at a table and flagged down a waitress like she’d done it a hundred times before.

“The usual?” the waitress asked. She wore all black and had heavy eyeliner and a spiked collar. Steve was a little afraid of her.

“Yes, please.” Emma smiled at her.

“And for your friend?”

“What’s your poison, Vanilla Ice?” Emma asked.

“Vanilla Ice?” Steve echoed. “Who’s Vanilla Ice?”

Emma stared at him. “You are.” She waggled her phone at him. “Your Trainer screen name is IceIceCaptain. Like _Ice Ice Baby_. Like - never mind. Coffee, black as trench mud, and a _pain au chocolat_ for the gentleman.” Emma enunciated in French perfectly.

The waitress nodded and walked away.

“Here’s the thing,” Emma said again before Steve could ask her any questions about pop culture references he didn’t get, “you’re not actually a nice guy if you expect to be rewarded for being nice. That’s not the point of being nice. So if you really love your BFF and you want him to be happy and he’s happy with this guy, you be supportive of his relationship.”

“But I want to fight for him,” Steve protested.

“No, that’s fighting for you.”

Steve was taken aback by her vehemence. He stared down at his phone, at the Pikachu dancing on his screen waiting to be caught. He sighed and shut down his phone, tucked it back into his jacket. “You’re right.”

“That I am.”

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. “Right. Okay. So, let’s talk about _your_ boy problems.”

Emma beamed at him and showed him her phone. “Okay, so Mark is way better at Pokemon hunting, David is cuter, but they’re equally nice. How do I pick?”

 

*

When Steve got back to the Tower around six in the morning - after being appalled that Emma paid for their late-night beverages and pastries, and walking her back to her apartment building and seeing her safely inside - Natasha was awake on the couch.

“Where have you been?” she asked. “Besides in Brooklyn hunting for Pokemon.”

“Just needed to walk a bit, see the old neighborhood, get my head on straight,” Steve said.

Natasha was wearing sweats and a t-shirt and looking calm, relaxed.

“And did walking around the old neighborhood help?”

“Not as much as the Pokemon hunting,” Steve said. When he’d parted company with Emma, it was with her phone number (which he wasn’t sure he’d be using) and the addresses for several gay clubs (which he definitely might be using).

“Bucky’s not back yet,” Natasha said, just as Steve reached for the doorknob of the room they shared.

“Thanks,” Steve said. As a super soldier, he didn’t need nearly as much sleep as the average person, and after the black coffee Emma had foisted on him, he was feeling pretty awake, even though he metabolized caffeine much faster than before. He showered and changed into clean clothes, and then he packed up his sketchbook and some pencils. He had been itching to draw Emma all night, and he’d finally gotten a decent look at her in the early dawn light, even though she’d never drawn back her cat-eared hood. He figured if he finally felt like drawing again, that was a good thing.

But before he left, he tore a piece of paper out of his sketchbook and wrote a letter for Bucky. It said pretty much what Emma had recommended he say, though in less crude terms. He folded it and left it on Bucky’s pillow, and then he set off for Central Park.

When he passed through the den, Natasha was fast asleep.

Steve unfurled a blanket over her and wondered if she’d been waiting up for him.

In the early morning, the park was full of people on their morning runs, some yoga classes, a couple of tai chi classes, and homeless people kipping for as long as possible before the police came and told them to move along.

Steve wandered around till he found a spot that had good light but was shaded enough to protect him from the sun if he got lost in his drawing, and then he sat down, flipped open his sketchbook, and set to work. He thought of Emma and her little nose, of her easy confidence and brutal honesty, the way she talked with her hands when she got excited, how fast she walked. He thought of the cat ears and ragged cuffs on her hoodie, and her scuffed sneakers. And he drew, and he thought.

About Bucky, and Evan, and what Bucky could have meant, when he said that he wasn’t the only one whose memory had been scrambled by time on the ice.

“You’ve got a great sense of lighting.”

Steve lifted his head sharply.

Evan was standing before him, wearing Air Force blues. He was wearing his cover, and the silver oak leaves on his uniform glinted. Steve didn’t know enough about the Air Force to be able to identify all the pins and badges and medals Evan had going for him, but he had a lot. He’d fought his war a lot longer than Steve had fought his. He looked like a bona fide American hero.

“You’re a hard man to find, even when you’re not hiding,” Evan added. “Sam said this was one place to look. May I sit?”

Steve said, “Sure.” He would be nice to Bucky’s boyfriend. That was what being supportive and a real nice guy meant. He scooted over, and Evan eased down on the bench beside him.

“I looked at your sketches, sometimes, the ones hanging up in museums,” Evan said. “My mother always told me that an artist could not be a soldier, that war would murder the art in my soul, but I saw how lovely your work was, and I knew I could be both.”

“That’s nice,” Steve said lamely, because he never knew what to say when people talked about worshipping him when they were children.

“Bucky’s a really great guy,” Evan continued. “Smart, funny, sexy as hell - but then you know all that, don’t you?”

Steve sucked in a breath. “Listen, about that time in the park, I’m really sorry.”

“That was just a little irritating, not going to lie,” Evan said. He folded his hands on his knees and studied Steve. “Here’s something you probably don’t know about Bucky, though. He’s been in love with you for a very long time. He was honest with me about it. He was also honest with me about how he was sure you would never feel that way about him, because he asked one time, and you turned him down.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I’m sure you don’t, or I wouldn’t be here, having this conversation with you.”

“This conversation where you tell me we can be polite to each other for Bucky’s sake?”

“This conversation where I tell you I’m shipping back out to another galaxy, and I don’t think I can handle that kind of long-distance relationship. I hear it’s been done, but those couples were established, had long-term commitment. This thing with me and Bucky is new, and there’s also...you.”

“You gave him your Alien Apocalypse Token,” Steve protested.

“I didn’t say I didn’t love Bucky,” Evan said, and Steve’s throat closed.

_Love._

“But I’m going to another galaxy, and that’s not fair to him.”

Steve thought of Emma, of what she would think of Evan’s reasoning. “Shouldn’t Bucky be the one to decide that?”

“Yes,” Evan said. “We talked about it. So here I am, talking to you.”

“Did Bucky tell you to -?”

“No. But I love him, and I want him to be happy, and while I’m off in Pegasus starting an intergalactic incident, I think you can make him happy. He’s been miserable this past little while with you two not talking.” Evan clapped Steve on the shoulder. “So think about what I said, and be good to him.” He stood up, smoothed down his uniform. “See you, Captain.”

“And you, Colonel.”

Evan smiled and walked away.

He was almost out of earshot when Steve realized what he’d said. “Wait, intergalactic incident?”

Evan’s smile turned decidedly wicked, and then he was gone.

Steve texted Natasha. _Is Bucky back yet?_

 _He’s asleep,_ was Natasha’s immediate reply. _He looked upset. I think he and Evan broke up._

Steve’s first instinct was to rush back to the Tower and talk to Bucky, comfort him. But no, he had to do the right thing. He’d be there for Bucky, be sympathetic and supportive, but he’d already made his move, made his feelings known. The rest was up to Bucky.

_Thanks for letting me know._

Steve started packing up his art supplies. He ought to head back to the Tower in any case, see if Thor was back in town and wanted a sparring partner.

But then he thought. He could still be a comfort and a friend to Bucky without pressing his luck. He fired off a text message to Emma. _My friend just broke up with his boyfriend. What can I do to cheer him up?_

 _Don’t be a douchebag,_ was her immediate response.

Belatedly, Steve realized what time it was. _Shouldn’t you be asleep?_

_Whatever, grandpa. Will rom coms and ice cream cheer him up?_

_Probably not._

_Getting drunk and watching action movies?_

_Also no._ Steve knew Bucky hated action movies. They gave him flashbacks to his time as the Winter Soldier.

_Robot wars?_

Steve thought of Bucky’s mechanical arm. _And that’s a third no._

 _RENT,_ Emma offered.

_What’s that?_

_A live musical. A movie. Although since we live in New York, if you pick the movie over the musical I’m going to have to revoke your New York Native card. Round up a bunch of friends and make a night of it. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, and it’ll be great._

Bucky had always liked music and shows. _That might work. Thank you._

 

*

Steve pitched the idea to Tony, who immediately took a pass. Clint also passed, but Natasha passed the word on to Pepper, who put the word out among The Gang, so by the time invitations were extended and show times and seats were chosen, Bucky, Sam, and Steve were the only males among Pepper, Jane, Darcy, Laura, and Natasha.

“ _Rent_ is great,” Sam told Steve. “You’ll like it a lot.”

“You’ve seen it before?” Steve asked.

Sam nodded. “It’s totally worth seeing again.”

Bucky had read Steve’s letter, thanked him for his apology, but said nothing about Steve’s declaration of his feelings. Now they were talking to each other again, so Steve figured things were on the right path. He hoped this night out to cheer up Bucky - this night out a month in the planning - would help repair their friendship further.

Darcy had appointed herself chief fashion advisor and was straightening Bucky’s tie right up until they left the Tower. Steve had declined her fashion services (but possibly spent an embarrassing amount of time sending selfies to Emma for her approval of his outfit).

Darcy linked her arm through Bucky’s and smiled up at him. “I think tonight is going to be a really swell time. We’ll have good food and good entertainment, and we’ll be out and about with the best-looking men in town.”

“Don’t let Thor hear you say that,” Laura murmured, and Jane laughed.

“Are you kidding? Thor would wax poetic about Bucky’s stormy gray eyes or something to show he agreed.”

Pepper had hired a discreet car to get them to the restaurant and then the theater. Steve made an effort not to monopolize Bucky’s time, but kept an eye out for him in case he got anxious in the crowds. The food was delicious, and somehow Pepper had managed to find a restaurant where they were treated well but not fawned over even though it was apparent the staff knew who Pepper, Natasha, and Steve were.

Pepper had sprung for really good seats in the orchestra section at the theater, and Steve, who'd spent a lifetime either in the nosebleed section or trying to listen at the stage door, was excited. He was also trying not to be too excited about the fact that somehow, in the process of arranging seats, Bucky was sitting next to him. Instead he focused on silencing his cell phone, and then the lights went down, and the overture began.

The thing that had always impressed Steve about musicals more than most movies or books was the way the lyricist and composer repeated themes throughout the play, the same phrases or images or melodies. _No day but today._ _Seasons of love._

During the intermission, Darcy, Jane, and Laura talked about how they’d all liked the movie version of the play, which had included as much of the original cast as possible. Pepper talked about how it was an excellent modern adaptation of the classic opera _La Boheme_. Steve had been shocked the first time Collins and Angel kissed. He knew that kind of thing was more or less socially acceptable today, had noticed that no one blinked when Evan and Bucky had held hands or danced on their date, but it wasn’t something Steve read about in books or saw in movies. He couldn’t help but glance at Bucky and wonder, if they’d grown up in a different time, would Evan have ever happened? Would Steve have realized earlier on just how he felt about Bucky? Would he have been brave enough to take a chance?

And then the second half started. The best scene in the entire play, Steve thought, was Angel’s funeral, because all of the themes that had begun in the first half were woven together. _Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes._ _With a thousand sweet kisses._ _I’ll cover you._ _Till your heart has expired._

Steve thought of the words that had connected him and Bucky across decades, across frozen sleep, across torture and mind control and horror.

_Till the end of the line._

And just like that, he remembered.

_The day of Mom’s funeral, Bucky caught him on the way back to his apartment. “We looked for you after. My folks wanted to give you a ride to the cemetery.”_

_“I know, I’m sorry. I just kinda wanted to be alone.” It was a rare time in Steve’s life, when he wanted to be away from even Bucky._

_“How was it?”_

_“It was okay. She’s next to Dad.”_

_“I was gonna ask -”_

_Bucky and his family were too generous. “I know what you’re gonna say, Buck. It’s just -”_

_“We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids. It’ll be fun. All you gotta do is shine my shoes. Maybe take out the trash. Come on.”_

_“Thank you, Buck. But I can get by on my own.” Steve didn’t want Bucky’s charity._

_“The thing is, you don’t have to. I’m with you till the end of the line, pal.”_

Except it hadn’t gone like that, had it?

_“Thank you, Buck. But I can get by on my own.” Steve hadn’t wanted Bucky’s charity, but hadn’t realized what it was he wanted instead._

_Bucky had stepped closer, lowered his voice. “The thing is, I don’t want you to. I’m with you till the end of the line.” And he’d reached out, curled his fingers through Steve’s, like Steve had seen some guys do, in the shadows of the drawing dens and jazz bars where no one asked too many questions._

_And it had been too much. Steve had pulled away, said his farewells, and he’d seen something fracture behind Bucky’s eyes, but then Bucky had smiled his usual smile, and Steve told himself he’d imagined it, because he’d just come from his mother’s funeral and he was overwhelmed, and -_

Darcy and Laura bawled through the entire funeral, which led to Jane and Pepper tearing through their clutch purses for tissues. If Steve swallowed hard and had to swipe a hand over his face, everyone would assume it was about the funeral too.

During the finale, when the main cast was standing in the same line they’d started in, with the gap where Angel was supposed to be, Steve felt like he was watching the life he’d lived since Bucky had died, aways with a gap.

In the car after the show, Darcy and Laura gleefully sang a reprise of La Vie Boheme, and Bucky and Sam clapped along, laughing and cheering. Steve managed to muster up a smile, but his heart wasn’t in it.

When he’d been at his worst, at his lowest, Bucky had taken a huge chance with him, offered him everything in his soul, and Steve had pushed him away.

Steve remembered the look on Bucky’s face, the first time Steve flipped open his compass and he saw the picture of Peggy in there.

Back at the Tower, the others piled into the den to watch the movie and compare it to the show, but Steve excused himself, citing tiredness, and went into his room. He changed into pajamas and sprawled out on the bed. He checked his phone and there was a text message from Emma.

_Hope you had fun._

_My friend had fun, and that’s what counts._

_That’s the spirit._ Emma followed up her approval with a grinning emoticon.

_You’re right. I was being a total douchebag before._

_Language, grandpa._

_Ha ha._

_What are you going to do about it?_

_Apologize some more, and then let him live his life._

_Congratulations, Padawan. We may make a Jedi of you yet._

Steve set his phone aside and stared up at the ceiling. How would he apologize to Bucky? And then he had an idea. He rolled out of bed, scooped up his sketchbook, pencils, and pens, and set to work. He had to boot up his laptop and look up some basic rules for formatting a comic, how to handle panels and transition from panel to panel for the most effective storytelling.

Outside, he heard the others singing along to _No day but today,_ and he drew.

He was still drawing when Bucky tried to sneak into their room.

“I thought you were going to sleep,” Bucky said, pausing.

“I was,” Steve said, “but then I was inspired, so.” He smiled at Bucky and kept on drawing.

Bucky resumed undressing slowly - tie, shoes, socks, jacket, shirt. “That’s good. I’m glad to see you drawing again.”

“I’m glad to be drawing,” Steve admitted.

“I had fun tonight,” Bucky said. “Thank you. I know you planned it all for me.”

“It was all Pepper, really.”

“But it was your idea.”

Steve swallowed. “You really like Evan, and even though you both agreed this was best, you miss him, and I - I kinda get that.”

“I’ll bet.” Bucky settled beneath the covers on his bed and turned off his bedside lamp. “Good night, Steve.”

“Good night, Buck.”

Bucky closed his eyes, and Steve kept drawing.

*

By the time Bucky woke, Steve was across town, in Brooklyn, on another Pokemon hunt, and also looking to replenish his pencils, which he’d worn down to stubs in his efforts the night before.

“Hey, stranger.”

Steve was jolted out of his contemplation of watercolor pencils by Emma’s voice.

She stood at his elbow in her ubiquitous cat hoodie. Her little basket was full of calligraphy supplies. “Back for more Pokemon?”

“And art supplies,” he said.

“So that comic you drew for your friend is kinda genius,” Emma said.

Steve had taken pictures of each page and sent them to her. “You think so? It’s not too much?”

“You put a lot of effort into it, and it’s sincere, but it still lets him make his own choices.” Emma tilted her head at him. “One thing, though.” She beckoned.

Steve leaned in. She reached up and cupped her hands around his face.

“You were a skinny kid, it’s true, but this? This face? Is the same. And you’re kind of beautiful, whatever the rest looks like.”

Steve blinked. A lump rose in his throat.

Emma leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Now, get your art supplies, and go do something useful till your friend gets back to you about your comic. And there’s a Sandshrew near the Bucky Barnes Memorial, if you know where to look.” She turned and scampered away to pay for her supplies, and was she wearing a fox tail? Had Steve just not noticed it the other night?

He paid for his pencils - he’d try the watercolor pencils later - and went in search of the Bucky Barnes Memorial. He had to stop several people and ask where it was, but most of them shrugged him off and moved on. A couple of teenagers did tell him where he might find a Sandshrew, though. They clapped him on the back and gave him a thumbs-up, and he hurried on, eager to find a Pokemon he knew Natasha didn’t have.

So intent was he in trying to catch the stubborn Pokemon that he didn’t realize what the memorial was till the Pokemon was caught and he could see the unimpeded image on his phone. He switched off his phone and stared at the mural. It was like the other mural, black silhouettes, but he could clearly see it was Bucky with his arm around pre-serum Steve, the Howling Commandos arrayed behind them. The shadows Bucky and Steve cast were the Winter Soldier and Captain America, arms still around each other.

And then his cell phone pinged.

Message from Bucky.

_Come home._

Steve answered quickly. _Is everything all right?_

_We need to talk._

Steve knew from rom coms that those words could mean disaster, but he hurried back to the Tower anyway. Whatever Bucky decided, Steve needed to know, so he could move on - in whatever direction that was.

The Tower was seemingly empty, no Natasha lounging on the couch, no Thor leaving his hammer strange places, no Tony up to his elbows in robot guts and screwdrivers. Steve headed for his room, wary, and there was Bucky, sitting on his bed, the pages of the comic spread around him.

“You remembered,” Bucky said.

“It took a while.”

Bucky’s expression was almost Winter Soldier blank. “You said no.”

“I was an idiot. A coward. Afraid. And I told myself I imagined it, because you could never - not with me. But this is how I’d want it to go, now that I know myself better.” Steve nodded at the page in Bucky’s hand.

In the final two panels of the comic - a painstaking rendition of that moment outside Steve’s apartment, after Mom’s funeral - history had been rewritten. In the penultimate panel, Bucky had his fingers curled through Steve’s, and in the speech bubble it said, _The thing is, I don’t want you to. I’m with you till the end of the line._

And in the final panel, Steve was kissing Bucky. The caption read what Steve wished he’d said.

_Yes. Till the end of the line._

“You were a jerk about me and Evan,” Bucky said.

“I’m sorry.”

“But you really feel about me the way I feel about you, don’t you?”

Steve said, “It’s all there. In every line.”

“But is it in you?”

“Till the end of the line.”

Bucky stared at him for a long time. Steve held his breath, envisioning a million pathetic text messages to Emma, huddling on her sofa eating ice cream and watching rom coms, going on endless Pokemon hunts with her and Natasha (and her and Natasha together, oh no) while Bucky moved out or vanished again or -

Bucky rose up, crossed the room, pulled Steve close, and kissed him.

Steve kissed him back, sure he was doing it badly but not caring because it was Bucky and they were kissing and -

Tony’s voice cut into Steve’s blissful haze.

“Holy shit! Bucky, I think your ex-boyfriend just started an intergalactic incident!”

Steve and Bucky pulled apart, startled.

Tony stood in the doorway, waving a Starktab, on which a video was playing, a video of Evan Lorne wearing a uniform stripped of all military badges and insignias and making a speech about how Atlantis had declared its independence from Earth.

Tony turned the tablet around and lowered it, took in the scattered comic pages and Bucky’s state of undress and Steve’s mussed hair and shirt.

“Oh. Um. I’ll just go - call Natasha. Carry on, gentlemen.” He spun on his heel and walked away quickly.

Bucky laughed softly. “I’ll bet Evan’s giving the speech because no one would take it seriously if Sheppard did it.”

Steve stared at him. “You knew he was going to do that?”

“Yeah. Chances of me ever seeing him again after pulling a stunt like that are slim to none. And anyway, Evan pointed out that maybe I was so cranky about you not because of what you’d done but because I missed you, while we weren’t talking.” Bucky leaned in and kissed Steve again, softly. “Now, less talk about Evan and more talk about us?”

“Less talk, maybe.” Steve slid a hand up Bucky’s ribs, and Bucky’s eyes fluttered closed, and Steve couldn’t help it. He kissed Bucky again.

Hours later, after experimenting with the super soldier serum’s effects on stamina and sex drive, Bucky cuddled close to him and drowsed. Steve wrapped an arm around him and gazed at him, awed that they’d reached this point.

His cell phone pinged with an incoming text message.

_Did you catch your Sandshrew?_

_Yes, I did._


End file.
